Cloudy With a Chance of Tributes
by arrowsinflames
Summary: "Heights. Lots of heights. Think back to when you were a child, out on the playgrounds. Perhaps you went on a swing? It gave the illusion of yourself being. . . oh. . . what was it?" There was a slight pause, "I remember now!" She pulled away from him, smiling widely, "The tributes are going to be flying, of course." Welcome to the 63rd Hunger Games}SYOT open.
1. Interview With a Loony

**Cloudy With a Chance of Tributes:**

* * *

_"And if the birds_  
_Are just hollow words_  
_Flyin' along, singin' a song_  
_What would they do?_  
_If they just knew_  
_What they could do_  
_Oh, if they just knew"_

* * *

**Interview With a Loony**

* * *

**M**idnight was approaching and the President of Panem was alone in his office, eyes scanning over a memo sent from a Gamemaker (which, mind you, was incredibly lengthy for the words practically left his brain the moment he read them), and one hand twirling a silver spoon that rested in a cup of tea.

President di Angelo was waiting for a call from the Head Gamemaker, and quite frankly, between awaiting for the woman to call him, and the stress of the upcoming Hunger Games, the President's brain had little space for anything else. The more he squinted his brown eyes in concentration, the more he concentrated on the memo's words, the more he thought of that Gamemaker with frizzy and curly red hair.

The Head Gamemaker was hired that very day, scooped out of the interview room and placed in her own office. The President's new coworker had been on the news just hours ago, reading the definition of the Hunger Games (as if anyone needed to be reminded) written by citizens long, long ago, and then promising that these Games would be, under her supervision, spectacular.

Although some Capitol magazines disagreed, the President of Panem was not a fool. It had not escaped his mind that every Head Gamemaker claimed their Games would be promising. It had not escaped his mind that Fleur Porter, Gamemaker, became more and more flustered each time President di Angelo brought up that fact.

The President turned to the next page of his memo, and after seeing there were at least a dozen more pages afterwards, gave up with a soft groan. He stretched his arms above his head and glared around his pure white office— the only color in his office was the glass bowl filled with fake fruit, which rested upon, of course, a white table.

A sudden cough filled the room.

President di Angelo tentatively turned on his heel, narrowing his eyebrows and clenching his jaw in an attempt to appear braver. "Yes?" He called out, now leaning forward on the toes of his feet, one hand pressed against the doorframe.

Fleur Porter appeared, stepping sideways to enter the President's line of vision. Her frizzy and curly red hair was a mess as always, tied back in a pathetic pony tail. She gave him a bright smile, "Hello, President di Angelo. Good to see you, as always."

The President, deciding he couldn't honestly say the same about her, said nothing, only gesturing for her to have a seat in one of the white chairs.

"How can I help you, dear?" he said, shaking Fleur's hand very briefly then wiping his palm off on his pants. The President took a seat in his chair behind the white desk, while Fleur settled into a chair of her own. Feeling particularly warm and cozy, the President even pushed forward the candy-filled bowl on his desk.

Fleur gratefully shoved her hand into the bowl, popping a few sweets into her mouth. She seemed to be taking her time eating, swirling her tongue around the candy, and swallowing in tiny bites. Finally, once her sweet-tooth was fulfilled, she spoke, "Oh, it's been quite a day, President di Angelo."

He raised in an eyebrow in mock curiosity, pouring a handful of candies of his own into his mouth. "How so?" he asked, his hands automatically tidying up his desk while his concentration was on the Head Gamemaker. The stapler was shoved to the top corner, next to the bucket of pencils, the memo from the Gamemaker was tossed in the waste bin, and his hologram-receiver was straightened in the center. _Spick and span_—just as he liked things.

Fleur rubbed her green eyes tiredly with the back of her hand, slumping back in the chair, "Reporters have been swarming my office all day. Hovercameras are going to make me go blind, I tell you. Those pesky little things are crowding my windows," she sighed, "Not to mention, I haven't even gotten to tell anyone about my Arena idea."

At this, the President perked up. Like every citizen of Panem, President di Angelo was always quite excited during Game season. Few people realized the President had little-to-no say in the Arena. He simply shared what the Gamemakers created it, stamping his signature onto their memos and plans. It was a surprise for him, too, when the tributes entered the Arena.

"My ears are open, Fleur." The President entwined his fingers together and propped his elbows on his desk.

"Are you sure?"

"Absolutely."

The redhead woman grins, "Well, Mr. President," she glances over towards the corner of the room, which influences the president to do the same. There, leaned against the crisp walls, is a broom. The Gamemaker's gaze lingers for a moment before she tears her eyes away, and locks them with President di Angelo's, "All I can say is; I hope the tributes aren't scared of heights."

The President was having none of that. He had had his fair share of so-called-mysterious Gamemakers. The President had learned the hard way that more often than not, the mysterious ones were the lazy ones. "What do you mean?" he hissed, "Is it a mountain? Tundras?"

Fleur shrugged, an amused expression on her face, "I don't know, Mr. President," she mused, "I suppose it's all up in the air."

President di Angelo scoffed, rapping his fingers onto the desk, "I don't appreciate your secrets, Fleur," he narrowed his eyes, "Not one bit." The President was never one for surprises. Why, even as a boy, he hated them. Marvelo di Angelo was quite the perfectionist, meaning he liked to be on time. When his parents threw him a surprise party at the tender age of six, he almost tore the entire Sector down. Had he showed up late to his _own_ _party_?

The Hunger Games were no different.

Fleur leaned back in her chair even further, "I suppose I can give you _one hint_," she waggled her eyebrows suggestively, "For a price, of course."

At that, the President nearly fell out of his chair. A _price_? He had heard Victors doing such things—he even hired one for his buddy—but the President of Panem? "That is absolutely degrading, Miss Porter. If you think for a moment I would give up what dignity I have just to pay your—"

The Gamemaker held up a hand, laughing and giggling, "I don't mean _that_. This is my first day! 'Sides, I don't believe in 'coworkers with benefits'." She shook her head, sending red curls flying.

Marvelo managed a completely President-di Angelo-like-smile, the corners of his mouth quivering into what one could only assume to be a pathetic excuse for a grin. "Ah, right. I suppose you'll be expecting money then?" He held up his hands, "A raise?"

Fleur once more shook her head, red curls a blur against the white walls. President di Angelo noticed how much this Head Gamemaker stuck out. Not in a good way—not in a bad way. Her red locks were easily spotable against even the neon-dyed hair of the Capitol citizens. She was—dare he say it?—unique.

"I don't want your money, President. I just wanted to take those candies home with me. They're quite tasty."

The President blinked a few times, unsure of what had just escaped her lips. "Candies. . ." He repeated slowly, and Fleur nodded happily. Ever so slowly, with stiff and robotic movements, Marvelo opened the drawer of his desk, taking out one of the bags of candy. He placed it onto the desk, and Fleur happily scooped it up, laying it across her lap.

"I believe you must fulfill your part of the trade now, Miss Porter."

Fleur whacked her hand against her head, making a '_duhhhh_' face. She gestured for him to come closer, making a hook with the index finger on her right hand. President di Angelo awkwardly leaned forward until his gut was pressed against the desk, digging into his skin. The Gamemaker pushed a piece of thick red hair behind her ear before getting up herself, placing her lips just centimeters above the President's ears,

"Heights. Lots of heights. Think back to when you were a child, out on the playgrounds. Perhaps you went on a swing? It gave the illusion of yourself being. . . oh. . . what was it?" There was a slight pause, "I remember now!" She pulled away from him, smiling widely, "The tributes are going to be _flying_, of course."

* * *

**A/N: Dun dun dun! Foreshadowing! Aha, as you can tell, this is a SYOT! Don't worry, the tributes won't be given enhancements to make them fly. Much more thought out.**

**All the information is on my profile, so please, please, please read that. I'll only be accepting tributes through Private Messages, and only good-quality tributes will be accepted.**

**If you don't like 3rd person—don't worry. I'm only planning on writing Capitol chapters like these in 3rd, all the others will be in 1st person as most SYOTS usually are (:**

**Song used: Do You Know What I'm Seeing~Panic! At the Disco.**

**-Riley**


	2. Aglet Got Your Tongue?

Cloudy With A Chance of Tributes:

* * *

There are no raindrops on roses and girls in white dresses  
it's sleeping with roaches and taking best guesses  
at the shade of the sheets before all the stains.  
Add a few more of your least favorite things.  
**Build God, Then We'll Talk- Panic! At the Disco**

* * *

**Aglet Got Your Tongue?**

* * *

**Rava Di' Niro (Capitol Citizen, 16)**

I cackle like a maniac as I leap from the rooftop, dropping down onto the streets below. With precise timing, I shoot my arms upward, hooking my fingers onto the electric poles. "Come on, Clemence's!" I practically shriek, swinging upside down once then releasing, grabbing one of the bricks of a house.

"You can't run forever, Rava!" One of the high-pitched voices of the Clemence Triplets shouts up at me. I scurry up the wall, standing on the rooftop with hands on my hips.

I stick my tongue out, "I think I can! Now, why don't ya come on up?" I plop myself down on the edge, swinging my barefeet. "Weather is nice up here, you know."

One of the Clemence Triplets**—**I don't know their names, nobody does. We all just recognize them by their weights**— **tosses his spear to one of his brothers, and throws himself at the wall. Just in time, he kicks his feet towards the wall, chubby fingers latching onto the bricks.

His brothers push his rear-end upwards, giving him a boost. I sit there for a bit, humming and whistling as I give the Clemence some time to scale the wall. He finally manages to push himself up, swinging his arm over the edge of the roof. I leap upwards, dancing from foot to foot as he tries to snatch my ankle.

"So long, loves!" Feeling incredibly giddy, I lean down and ruffle his black hair, which, even I'll admit, was a bit much. Wrong—yet satisfying. I swing the bag of food and money over my shoulder, then take off at a sprint, running across the length of this roof, then jumping and running the length of that roof, and then jumping and running and running. .

A glance behind my shoulder tells me that I'm alone on the rooftops. _The Clemence's must have given up_, I think smugly,_ typical_. I settle down onto the top of a roof with a dome-shaped object in the center. Digging into the bag, I lean my back against the dome, stretching out my legs.

"Revenge _is_ pretty sweet," I say, fishing a cream-filled pastry from the sack. It's tossed into my mouth and swallowed in one bite. I eagerly dig around inside the bag for another pastry, but am stopped— just before my fingers can curl around a dessert—by a spear at my throat.

The Clemence Triplets are standing in front of me, huffing and puffing, poking at my skin with their spears. Behind them are a small group of PeaceKeepers. "Fell_aaaaaa_s," I say slowly, "Did you really have to get your friends involved? I-I-I mean, I can just give you your bag back now, right?"

The skinnier of the bunch scoffs, "Too late for the nice approach now, Rava!" He sticks his tongue out, bobbing his head back and forth like a child.

"Arrest her now, boys." The triplets say at once, deep and squeaky voices combining together in a melody that's, quite frankly, almost laughable.

One of the Peacekeepers shoots out his hand, and I instantly sink to my knees. There's some sort of invisible force with a tight grip on me, squeezing and squeezing. I gasp for air, my hands clawing at my throat. "Please," I croak, "Stop."

The Peacekeeper's hand remains outstretched, while one of his partners walks over to me. My hands are tied behind my back, and a rag is shoved in my face. The rag smells funny. Sweet. Really, really sweet, like pure sugar. I think I say, "Sleep syrup?",though with the rag pressed to my face and the lack of oxygen, everything's a bit foggy.

You know what sounds really nice at the moment as I face my imminent death?

A nap.

* * *

When I wake, I find myself in a pure white room. I'm laying on a hard mattress, though my ankles and wrists are held down by invisible handcuffs. My brown leather jacket and pants are gone, and instead I've been dressed in a pale blue cotton dress. Looking at my arms and legs, the bruises and cuts I once had are gone.

I look like a tribute before the Chariot Rides. We all know what the Prep Teams do to them—by we, I of course mean the RTOTC (Rebellious Teens of the Capitol), founded by yours truly—we've all seen how they're bone thin and lanky during the Reapings, then suddenly flawless-looking during Chariots.

There's footsteps outside the walls. I can't see a door in the room. It's just barely big enough for me to take four steps then run into a wall. I swallow hard, trying to think back to all of the training I'd participated in at the RTOTC. We briefly touched upon the types of torture the Capitol does to rebels. . . I'm not sitting in a black leather chair, that means no electrocution. I'm not in a bathroom, that means no poisonous gas showers. What was happening to me? What form of torture was I about to get?

A Peacekeeper suddenly appears in front of one of the walls. He walks towards me without a sound, his black boots making hollow footsteps against the ground. "Hello?" I whisper as he begins to unfasten the handcuffs, twisting a key this way and that way in the air, "Are you a good guy? Are you going to rescue me?"

No response.

The cuffs are soon released, and I can move my hands and feet. I start to stand up, but the Peacekeeper grabs one of my sore wrists, dragging me towards one of the walls. He taps on the door five times, then after a split second of hesitation, he adds an extra knock. The wall slides open, as if by magic.

I'm struck by the amount of hallways and doors. It's like a maze in here. A door on the left, a door on the right, a hallway next to that door, a hallway next to this door. . And around each corner, next to the entrance of every door or hallway, is a Peacekeeper. They stand completely still, holding metallic guns, like statues.

After a minute of walking, we arrive in front of a door. The two Peacekeepers standing guard step back, allowing my escort to swing open the mahogany doors. In front of me is a room at least ten times bigger than the one I was previously in. There's a chair, similar to the one's I've sat in at the Dental Office. A table is next to it. An empty table.

"Sit." The Peacekeeper says quietly, motioning towards the chair.

I follow his instructions and lay back in the chair, trying to steady myself. "S-So what's goin' on? Am I being questioned? Trialed? Or what?"

The Peacekeeper bites down on his lower lip and shakes his head. There's sympathy on his face as he walks out of the room, the mahogany doors slamming to a close behind him.

Just seconds later, the door swings open again. A man with closely cropped white hair and smooth features walks in, wearing a white lab coat. He's walking fast, impatient almost.

The man sits down on the table next to my chair, "Hello," he says cheerfully, "I'm Doctor Aglet. You're Rava, correct? Founder of the RTOCT?" Doctor Aglet jumps down from the table, scooping down to his knees. He grabs a box from underneath it, placing it with a soft thud onto the tabletop.

I don't say anything, just nod.

"Rava, dear," he begins to rummage through the box, placing the contents one by one on the table, "I've heard much about you. You have a big mouth, I hear. You'd better enjoy it while you can, huh?"

The Doctor turns around and leans into my face, unnaturally pale blue eyes examining my face. His eyes linger on my lips. He cracks his knuckles, tilting his head as a smile crosses his own lips.

I realize I'm not about to be questioned. Suddenly, I'm absolutely terrified of what he's going to do to me.

Doctor Aglet steps aside and gestures towards the table, allowing me to see what he has laid out. Knives. _Knives_. He has a box of knives and he has just laid them out in front of me. It's an impressive collection of blades;; long and sharp, short and dull, curved and pointy. . All are deadly.

"Which one's your favorite, Rava?"

My mouth turns dry, and my heart starts racing. I can't find the courage to speak, instead just watch in horror as he runs his hands longingly over the knives. He stops on a short one, no bigger than a dagger, with a curved and sharp blade. "This one's mine." The Doctor states proudly.

"You've heard of Avoxes, haven't you?"

Then it hits me. "_No_! Please!" I shriek. I try to stand up, but the hand cuffs are back, maintaining their invisible grip on my hands. "You can't do this! Please! I'll go to prison! I'll go to a District! Don't do this to me!"

The doctor puts a finger to his lips as he brings the knife to mine. "It's okay, Rava. They're always scared at first, but I promise, if you just stay still, it will be over quick," He tilts my chin back, "Open wide, please."

I shake my head violently, tears threatening to spill over, "I won't let you. You can't."

"Please don't make me cut your lips, too," Doctor Aglet sighs, "It's a bit of a hassle, really. Just open your mouth, dear, really."

My hands clench into fists at my sides, nails digging into my skin. I curl my toes as much as possible and slowly open my mouth, panting and gasping.

The Doctor smiles, "Let's get this over with now, shall we?" He trails the blade up and down my tongue gently, sending shivers through my body. Doctor Aglet then presses down harder, slicing the tip of my tongue off.

The blood immediately starts to fill my mouth. I let out a slightly-muffled scream, blood spraying onto the Doctor's white ensemble. He seems unfazed by it, continuing with his work. The Doctor glides his blade across the top, peeling off the skin.

I'm thrashing wildly, kicking and punching the air and shaking my head. The tears are unavoidable. They flow down my cheeks in heavy rivers. The blood becomes stronger in my mouth, and I'm forced to swallow some as I sob and shriek.

The pain is awful. I have bruised ribs, broken bones, had teeth pulled, but nothing could of prepared me for this. It feels like every piece of skin on my body is being burned off, but a million times worse.

"Almost done!" The doctor chirps, and with that, he brings down his hand in one swift movement, chopping off the remainder of my tongue in one chop. I let out my last scream, which sounds more like a gargle, before I can't find the ability to speak, scream, anything. . All I can do is sob and thrash wildly.

Doctor Aglet pats my shoulder, as though he's unaware of the crimson blood covering him head to toe. "You did great, Rava," he praises, dropping the bloody knife onto the table, "Good luck, yeah? Make sure you gargle with salt water everyday and take the medication the Peacekeepers will give you."

I'm alone in the room, a combination of blood and tears pooling around me. I'm a sobbing wreck, my chest puffing out then awkwardly coming back in as I weep. The blood is foul, itching and irritating my throat, which only brings on more sobs.

The door slowly opens, and in comes the Peacekeeper from before. He has his eyes shut while he unlocks my handcuffs. "Follow me, please." The Peacekeeper begins to march off.

I slowly get to my feet, lightheaded and sobbing. As I follow him, my legs wobble at the sight of the trail of blood I leave behind me. It's pooling on the white tile, making a thin trail behind me as I continue walking. I'm escorted back to my white room, where I immediately climb into the hard bed.

The Peacekeeper pulls a few pills from his coat-jacket, pouring them into my hands. He picks up a glass of water that was resting on the sink's counter. "Drink this, it'll help."

I down the pills and water greedily, desperately trying to wash away the metallic blood from my mouth. It doesn't help much.

He places a vial of liquid and a bottle of pills on the table, "The vial will help soothe your throat, the pills with the pain. Be sure to keep drinking the water from the sink. I'll be bringing you meals. You will feel better in a day or two. You will remain here until the Games begin, and you will serve as a servant to the Tributes," the Peacekeeper's words are clearly scripted, and he winces with each one.

I manage a nod and immediately begin sobbing once he leaves through the magic doors.

I sob for myself, wallowing in self pity. I sob for the RTOTC. I sob for the Tributes I'll be serving. I sob until my eyes are dry and the vial of liquid has been swallowed, soothing my throat just as he said it would.

With a pounding headache, I curl up on the mattress, feeling useless, and close my eyes, hoping sleep will come to me eventually.

* * *

**A/N:**

**Heh, yeah. I know I said, "Oh, I'll be making Capitol chapters like these in 3rd Person", but you know what? I tried writing this chapter in 3rd person but it turned out . . . really bad.**

**I'm also aware that this chapter seems really unncessary and weird. But trust me, it isn't. You'll be hearing from the RTOTC and Rava throughout the story. I really hope nobody was weirded-out by this chapter? I mean, I really just wanted to get the points that**

**A) There's a rebellion in the Capitol.**

**B) The world of Panem is cruel. (but you knew that, right?)**

**I only have a few tributes! This will be the last chapter I post until I get a few more submitted, if that's okay.**

**Hope you enjoyed? (:**


End file.
